


Desperately Seeking Templar

by MaevesChild



Series: Vir Dirthara [3]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Porn With Plot, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-20
Updated: 2015-03-20
Packaged: 2018-03-18 19:22:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3581007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaevesChild/pseuds/MaevesChild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a little tale from the world of Suledin Enasal, a little naughty story that didn't fit into the primary narrative but was just BEGGING to be told.</p><p>This takes place between Chapters 10 and 11 of Suledin Enasal</p>
            </blockquote>





	Desperately Seeking Templar

Cassandra cornered Cullen in his office.

She waited until it was dark, until the walls were only populated by the guards stationed there to make her way from the courtyard and up the stairs.  Certainly, she had more than reasonable excuses to be there.  Cullen was the Commander and she had every right to speak to him. About business, about battle plans and...ugh, she wasn't fooling anyone.

She wasn't sure why it made her feel so foolish, after all, they were both adults.  But her heart was forever pitter-pattering in her chest like a schoolgirl whenever she thought about him.  And after the incident at Halamshiral, knowing the the Inquisitor  _knew_ , it made her feel ridiculous.

Not that it prevented her from going looking for him.  

She looked through the door, propped open to let the night breeze in.  His quill was scratching across the parchment, almost the only sound in the silent room.  Cullen was working; he was always working.  He was so diligent, so dedicated to their cause, to  _her cause_  it always made her feel so strongly, though she refused to spend much time considering just what it was he made her feel.  

He was sitting behind his desk, his armor on the stand in the corner.  His fingers were stained with ink, the sleeves of his linen shirt rolled up to his elbows.  His boots were discarded in a heap next to the desk.

She was still in her training armor.  She felt overdressed but she plowed ahead anyway.  As much as she'd tried to deny it, she had been attracted to him since the first.  Even back in Kirkwall, when he was still so shaken over what had happened at the Gallows and at the Chantry, she found him compelling.  Once she knew his entire story; the fall of the Circle in Ferelden and his rescue by the Warden Commander, the disaster that was Kirkwall, she was even more impressed by his fortitude.

Cullen could have broken into a million shattered pieces, but instead he put himself back together.  Cassandra couldn't help but be moved by it, though she'd certainly tried to deny it.  

But it was too late for that now.  She hated this.  She wanted to see him.  She wanted to talk to him and to the abyss with her reservations. Instead, she tried to think about what the Knight-Captain in Swords and Shields would do. She was so bold when it came to how she felt.  She wouldn't let her worries of feeling ridiculous hold her back from the man she loved. It was so romantic. 

_The man she...loved._

_Oh shit._

Cass swallowed hard.  She was past the point of no return now.  Instead of fleeing, she did her best to look confident and stepped through the door into Cullen's office, closing the door behind her.  She started across the room toward him with big, fearless steps.  Cullen looked up at the sound and almost started to smile but his face never quite got there before she grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, half pulling him up out on his chair and kissing him.  His feather quill floated to the floor.

Cullen sputtered a little when she let him go, plopping back down into the seat.  This time he actually smiled, more smirked, honestly and quite foolishly once he composed himself.

"Wow," was the best he seemed to be able to manage.  Cass shook her head at him.

"This is ridiculous.  We've been avoiding each other for a week," she said, sighing.  "It's my fault.  I'm an idiot."

Cullen got to his feet, his smile disappearing.  "Of course you're not an idiot.  Why would you say that?"

Cassandra made a disgusted noise.  "Because I have spent this week reading Varric's romance novels when," She paused, struggling with herself.  "When perhaps I could have the real thing."  She looked embarrassed.  "That is, if you..." She trailed off, frustrated.  "I'm no good at this."

Leaning against the edge of the desk, Cullen rubbed his own arm like he was trying to comfort himself.

"I'm not good at this either," he admitted, looking past her.  "Or I would have come found you myself.  I told you about all my years of sputtering around Amell, about Kirkwall and those years of fumbling and trying to find something, someone and never succeeding."  He raised his eyes back to meet hers.  "I've never told anyone else."

Cassandra felt her face soften.  "I know," she said.  "I'm glad you did."

Hesitantly, Cullen offered her his hand.  It was like a lifeline.  As foolish, as inane as it all was, she wanted to be here with him more than anything.  She'd enjoyed being with him at Halamshiral.  They didn't dance; it wasn't their way, but they'd bonded over their mutual discomfort, their fears for the Inquisitor.  They both had only one glass of wine each, but apparently that had been enough to break down their defenses.  

She kissed him first.  She enjoyed kissing him.  

_She missed it.  She wanted to do it some more.  Every day.  All the time_.

She took his hand.

Cullen pulled her toward him until she was standing between his knees.  He was warm and tall, taller than she was at least.  He smelled like parchment, like the bitterness of ink and it was wonderful.  They looked at each other silently for a moment, her hand and his still intertwined together.  He ran his thumb along the edge of her palm a few times.  

An unexpected grin spread across Cassandra's face and she grabbed the neck of his shirt again to pull his face down to kiss him.  She felt his arms come up around her, pulling her tightly against him.  His stubble brushed against her lips perfectly.

Once they began, it was like a dam breaking open.  Her hands had a mind of their own, finding the hem of his shirt so they could slide underneath, cool fingers scraping along the heat of his skin.  He made a little sound against her mouth, pulling away to look at her.  He had an oddly wicked look on his face.

"Tell me Seeker," he said.  "If the Inquisitor and Solas hadn't interrupted us, what do you think would have happened at the Winter Palace?"  

Cassandra raised an eyebrow at him, amused.  They were so much alike, yet so different.  She was afraid of looking weak, afraid to let down her defenses and let him in.  He was afraid of himself most of all, afraid he wanted something he couldn't have.  But they wanted each other, and once that opened up, they both opened up.  She leaned her weight against him. 

"Perhaps I should show you,  _Commander_ ," she said snidely, grinning at him.  She pushed on his shoulders, forcing him to sit on the top of the desk.  A pile of papers fluttered to the floor.  He looked at them for only a moment before Cassandra was pushing him again, until he was propped on his elbows with his knees at the edge of the desk.  The inkwell followed the papers.  Neither of them cared.

Reaching around her side, Cassandra deftly unbuckled the chest piece of her armor and slipped out of it, letting it clatter to the floor.  It was noisy and she didn't care for one whit.  If someone tried to walk in this time, they were just going to get an eyeful and the Maker could take them. 

It was blazingly hot in there.  She managed throw her tunic off over her head and shimmy her leather trousers on to the floor with her boots.  She stood up straight, all pale skin and muscled shoulders and curvaceous hips.  Cassandra's body was a well honed weapon.  She told Sera once that she didn't bother with small clothes and if there was one consistent thing about Cassandra Pentagast, it was that she didn't lie.  

Cullen didn't say a word, but from the look on his face and the state of the front of his trousers, it was clear he wasn't complaining.  

"And Cullen?" she said as she leaned in toward him, one hand finding the laces at his waist.  She grabbed the end of the lace and paused.

"Hm?" He was breathless and mostly incapable of speech at the moment.

"Don't call me Seeker," she said, tugging on the lace.  She untied the knot, deftly loosening his trousers.  She gestured to him with her chin and he shifted his weight so she could wriggle them down over his hips.  

Cullen, on the other hand, did wear small clothes but she made short work of them.  

He was a gorgeous man, a worthy character in one of those romantic stories she loved.  He was even the shining armor type, despite being a bit dented and battle scarred.  Other than the scar on his face, there were several others now exposed, including a thin white line that ran from his knee, curving around his leg and up the muscled slope of his thigh.  Cassandra ran her finger along the raised ridge of flesh, transfixed by it.

"I'll call you whatever you want," Cullen finally managed.  Cassandra looked up at his face.  He was utterly undone.  "Just please."  He couldn't finish his sentence, but she knew exactly what he meant.  

She crawled up on to the desk, silently thanking the Maker for sturdy Ferelden craftsmanship.  The desk didn't even creak as if bore both of them, Cullen flat on his back, Cassandra kneeling over him, one long leg folded on either side of his narrow hips.

She leaned down to kiss him, braced on one hand, the other on the flat of his belly, siding his shirt up to get access to his skin, all smooth and dusted with soft golden hair.  She felt his fingers card through the short strands of her hair.  Cassandra lifted her head to look at him before she took one of his hands from her neck and slid it down along her body until it rested on the curve of her ass.  His eyes slid shut and his fingers flexed.

"Maker's breath woman," he said.  "You're going to kill me."

Slipping her hand between their bodies, Cassandra reached down and wrapped her fingers around his cock, angling it up toward her.  It had been a long time, but she was so ready for her celibacy to be over.  Cullen made a sound that wasn't quite a whimper, but close enough.  She looked back at him, wanting reassurance that he was certain about this.  The look on his face made it clear she wasn't the only one who was ready.

Carefully, she shifted herself back, the head of his cock just brushing against her.  She felt the warmth, the smoothness of this most delicate skin as she lowered herself down.  Cassandra heard her own soft exhale at the rush of pleasure, of completeness.

_She needed this so badly.  She needed him._

She leaned down and kissed him again, desperate for the feel on his lips against hers as she started to move her hips, slowly, deliberately.  Cullen's other hand grabbed her hip, his calloused fingers pressing hard against her hipbone.  He didn't try to move her, just hung on for dear life.

She found her rhythm, riding him, moving almost effortlessly, rocking her hips.  If she angled her body just so, the length of his cock touched her in all the right places, sending shocks of delicious pleasure through her entire body.  Like everything else Cassandra did, she made love with brashness and with passion.  She heard the small sound her own voice was making without intending to and the way those sounds seemed like music to Cullen.  He looked enraptured.

He whimpered.  "Oh Maker, Cass."  He'd never used the short form of her name before.  It sounded wonderful to hear him say it.  "I can't," he almost stuttered.  "I'm going to...."

Instead of stopping at his admission, moving away or slowing, she moved faster.  His words were nearly enough to send her over the edge of her pleasure.  She rocked hard against him, her hips bearing down.  She felt the first throb of his orgasm almost before he seemed to realize it was happening.  His shoulders jerked up off the desk, and arm flying around her to hold himself up against her.

That added pressure, his wild movements, the pulsing of his erection inside of her, it was too much.  She felt her own climax wash over her, wild stinging pleasure from the tips of her toes to the crown of her head.  This time, he kissed her, his mouth crashing into hers.  It was all his passion just rolled out of him in that kiss as he fiercely clung to her.

He pulled away, breathing hard, his forehead still pressed against hers.  For a few heartbeats, there was no sound but the intermingling of their breathing, the blood rushing in their ears.

"You are," he said, just barely more than a whisper.  "Amazing."

Cassandra chuckled quietly.  "The feeling is mutual."  She cupped her hand against his cheek and could feel him trembling under her fingertips.  She leaned back to look at him, worried.  

"Are you alright?"  

He nodded, though he looked nervous still.  "What about...the other feelings?" he asked.  "Are they...mutual?"

"What feelings do you mean?"  She didn't want to presume; she didn't want to project her fantasies on to him, no matter how much she wanted to.

"Maker, Cass," he began, his voice still hesitant.  He struggled through it.  "I love you."

Cassandra closed her eyes and rested her forehead against his again, her heart hammering in her chest.  He was still inside of her, his arms still around her.  Though he was tense beneath her, she'd hadn't felt anything so wonderful in a very long time.

"Yes," she whispered, gently kissing him on the corner of his mouth.  Cullen's entire body relaxed, except for his arms tightening around her. He sighed contentedly.  "The feeling is most definitely mutual."


End file.
